[ does she know that when she steps in front of him so that the front of her robe is concealed from his view, he is just as much concealed from hers? and in a contest of who is most concealed from each other, he walks away with the prize, because while he has the sure confidence of her back to follow, she only has the sound of his voice.

a voice which laughter threads through, a laugh which imparts a quiet deal of ambitious unambitiousness. ]

That's more like it.

[ after all, she's the type to seek immediate replacements for whatever, or whoever, she's lost. in this way of hers nothing about her original mission, and no one ancillary to it, is lost in full: just sublimated into something - or someone - else. a line of matryoshka dolls, each succession an increasingly simplified imitation of the original, key details lost to the streamlining process as the dolls must shrink to accommodate it. and wouldn't he know. ]

You've amassed quite the cavalry here. [ it's not about liking, no, thriving without him, a conclusion he's come to after careful, studious observation of her interactions with others in the nest. what's obvious is that she's spent the better part of her days without him building, developing, establishing, flourishing. and if that doesn't look like her brand of happiness - ] But I don't know anything about your time here, who [ or what ] you trust, what [ or who ] gives you joy.